


Exception

by Everyday_Im_Narrating



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Argentcest, Blowjobs, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Fingering, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Just the Tip, Loss of Virginity, Nipple Play, OR IS IT, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest, Smut, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering, Virginity Kink, cunninlingus, toxic thought processes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21751207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyday_Im_Narrating/pseuds/Everyday_Im_Narrating
Summary: He's always been the exception to her every rule.-(Exactly what it says on the tin: nearly 15k words of angsty, unhealthy, but entirely consensual sibling incest.)
Relationships: Chris Argent/Kate Argent
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	Exception

**Author's Note:**

> A very important heads-up: this fic contains very toxic thought processes, underage sex, sibling incest, and most importantly, FICTIONAL CHARACTERS participating in all of these things. Please don’t fuck your siblings in real life, especially if they’re high schoolers and you’re in college. Also, in case it isn't obvious: all the thoughts and opinions expressed in this fic are the characters' and not mine.

If there is one thing Kate is good at, it’s using people.

She’s been doing it since way before she had any kind of conscience. All she knew as a kid was that she was pretty, with curly pigtails and big blue eyes, and that combining her natural traits with a quivering bottom lip would get her whatever she wanted. As she grew, she began to understand how it really works – if you have something that someone wants, you can get them to do things for you. There’s really no other reason people are kind to each other, not in Kate’s head. Kids at school are nice to her because she has the jumbo pack of crayons and they can borrow them if they sit with her at lunch. She wants the company, so she lets them use her crayons, and when she wants to be left alone, she keeps the crayons to herself. Dad is nice to her because he has to be, because Mom died when she was too young to remember and left a completely useless baby behind for him to look after. Not that he really does. He pays for stuff. For anything she and her brother want, really. Because they have something Dad wants: the ability to give him peace. They leave Dad alone and take care of themselves, and in return, Dad provides them with whatever they want.

_Take care of themselves_ is a bit of an overstatement. Chris is the one who has been taking care of Kate since his little seven-year-old self lost his mommy, and instead of mourning, became essentially a very young dad. Maybe that’s why he looked after her – because it provided a distraction from the grief, or because it made him feel useful, or because she was a cute baby. She’s still not very clear on that one.

Chris is a mystery. The one confusing stain on Kate’s otherwise crystal-clear conception of how people work. Because she’s well aware that she is, for lack of a better definition, _fucking awful_ to him. She doesn’t know why she does it, but doesn’t exactly have enough empathy in her heart to really regret _every_ single time she’s hit him, bullied him, put Legos on the floor next to his bed or broken his school projects the night before they were due. She hates herself when he cries – he almost never does, but sometimes she catches it and it makes her wish she had never been born – but then he… _Doesn’t_ stop loving her. Doesn’t stop packing her lunch. Doesn’t even rip off her hair when he’s tying it into pigtails, even with bruises on his arms.

Why? And why would she stop when his kindness doesn’t _end_? Is it because he’s afraid she’ll treat him _worse_ if he stops? Because Dad might be mad if he hurts her back? Because he pities her, somehow?

She has absolutely no clue, but there is something wounded in her soul that can’t be soothed, and when she’s sad, or angry, or scared, she takes it out on the one person who loves her for no reason. Over the years, she takes all of that love and hoards it, greedy, giving him nothing valuable in return. She’s hooked on it, is the truth. He has something _she_ wants – affection, tenderness, understanding – and for all that they fight and scream at each other, he still keeps pouring it onto her.

So naturally, when he graduates high school and packs up for college, there’s no part of Kate that can even begin to feel happy for him. He’ll be _gone_ soon. For several long, long months. No longer home to help Kate study or make her hot chocolate on a cold night or just _be there_ and _not leave._ His excitement is what hurts the most – of course he’s happy to be going to college and making friends and hooking up with pretty girls, but Kate knows he also can’t wait to get rid of his thirteen-year-old demon sister who has never given him a single reason to miss her when he’s gone.

Her graduation gift to Chris is her absence earlier than expected. It’s the best she could give him, really. The night before he leaves, she stays over at a friend’s house and doesn’t come back until he’s on the road already, mostly because watching him leave would hurt more than she could possibly handle.

In the following year – without a single visit from Chris – Kate learns more about people than she had expected.

She learns that the biggest, most powerful trick up her sleeve is her body. Thanks to what’s probably great genetics – the only thing she knows firsthand about her mother is that she was absolutely beautiful in every picture Kate has ever seen – puberty hits her with way more blessings than curses. Her shrill baby voice starts morphing to an interesting husk, a little lower than most girls her age; her hopeful training bra doesn’t take long to get small, and thanks to all the swimming, her legs grow longer and shapely. Even acne doesn’t bother her all that much – the few pimples that appear can be hidden easily with makeup, which she also learns to use to her full advantage.

Boys notice it. She loves boys. They’re so _stupid._ They’ll shower her with compliments for a smidge of her attention, and when she plays her cards right, she can get _everything_ from them. Homework for a kiss. Entire school projects for a good look at her boobs. Free lunch if she holds their hand in public. It’s ridiculously easy if she’s smart about it, and Kate is _smart._

She doesn’t let them touch. Ever. She knows what happened to Daisy Mills, who was doing the exact same thing as Kate, but let it get too far and got labeled the school whore. It’s very much not fair, Kate knows – she wouldn’t really care much if they called _her_ a whore, but soon after the rumors started spreading, boys lost their interest in Daisy. Kate doesn’t want to have to start doing her own homework. So she’ll kiss them, but that’s as far as contact goes; the ones who give her a very good reason to lift up her shirt can’t come close or she’ll break their hand for trying to break the rules.

Hell, she doesn’t _want_ them to touch. Their kisses are sloppy, their words mean nothing, and they’re only good to her because she’s the object of their desire. She has no interest in letting any of these boys try to do to her what she does to herself at night – it’s far more intimate than they’ve earned any right to be, and odds are they’d fail miserably, anyway.

A lot of people say their bodies are temples, but Kate’s is a beautifully crafted tool.

Thanksgiving goes by, lonely, with Dad and a sad little chicken because it would be wasteful to get a whole turkey just for the two of them. Chris calls to wish them a happy holiday – he’s celebrating with his friends, he’s sorry, he loves her – and she can’t quite keep her voice steady when she says she loves him too. (He’s always so nice on the phone. So much calmer. Happier. Of course he’s happier now that she’s not around to make him miserable.)

It’s all the proof she needs, really, when Chris makes up an excuse not to come home for Christmas. He loves being without her, and who can blame him? Kate sure can’t. But she misses him more than she could ever express, and so she starts racking her brain for something, anything, that would lure him back home.

As it turns out, she doesn’t need to come up with any sort of devious plan, because he promises he’ll be home for two whole weeks in the summer. Kate doesn’t use a calendar to keep track of her activities, but there’s a small part of her that almost wants to buy one just to physically circle the day that her brother will be back.

She’ll be nice this time. She’ll make him want to visit more often.

He calls and mails a gift on her fourteenth birthday – a box of different teas in pretty tins, because she told him how she’s been obsessed with loose leaf tea lately – and she swears she’ll make him want to be physically present for the fifteenth. On Chris’s birthday, in May, she spends hours at the comic book store trying to figure out what the hell he sees in these dumb stories, gives up, and ends up buying him a nice, sturdy leather jacket instead. Sends it in the mail with a note that says it’ll make him look like less of a nerd to his college friends. (She’s not great at being nice, but Chris emails her the next day saying he loves it and it fit great.)

June takes fucking _forever._ The first two days of July drag by even slower. Finally, though, Chris’s car pulls up to the garage just past dinnertime, and she doesn’t waste a second before running up to him and basically jumping into his arms.

“Katie!” He greets, excited, hugging her back just as tight. It’s so good to hear him call her that again – a pretty standard way to shorten her name, but one that only Chris is allowed to use, because it sounds like home and safety and the one person who loves her for free. “You grew up, holy shit, let me take a look at you.”

Reluctantly, she lets go of him to take step back, and that’s when it sinks in.

He grew up too.

He’s _handsome_. Is he taller? He looks taller. Stronger, too. It’s mostly his smile, though; she’s never seen it be so carefree before. So _relaxed._ It reaches his eyes fully and makes him look so genuinely content, she could cry.

“Where’d _these_ come from?” He gestures to her chest, and she laughs, shaking her head. No part of her is glad he noticed. Not a single, weird, inappropriate little bit of her wants him to keep noticing, no sir. “They weren’t here when I left.”

“Well, a lot can happen when you’re gone for a whole year.”

“I guess.” He shrugs. “Or maybe it’s all the tea.”

He pats her on the back and then walks into the house, duffel bag hanging from his shoulder as he goes straight to his bedroom.

That summer, Kate discovers that a lot of things have changed.

She finds out that Chris loves college. He’s majoring in Psychology – something he still isn’t very sure about, but he had to make a choice – and he has friends and goes to parties on the weekends. He has the normal, fun life he was always meant to have. He got his ear pierced (he got his _ear pierced._ Chris. Who used to hate the idea of body mods in general. It looks weird). He’s been working out in his spare time and looks fucking incredible.

Most of all, though, Kate realizes something about herself. That she is utterly, inappropriately attracted to her older brother in a way that siblings should never be.

She tries to ignore it, she does, but the thoughts keep coming back to her. Of course, he’s not the first handsome guy she’s ever seen, or the first guy who’s ever been nice to her, but he’s… Different. He’s always been fucking _different_. His hands are always certain and careful, whether he’s cooking a meal or adjusting his sunglasses. There’s a sweetness in his tone that Kate has never managed to mimic, and she’s pretty sure he doesn’t realize it, because it’s just natural to him. Chris is _good_. A good guy with a good face and a good heart and a good, _good_ body.

Of course Kate isn’t going to do anything about it, though, she’s not stupid. This is all in her head. Probably just all that pent-up frustration from dealing with stupid, skinny, horny boys on a regular basis – the same boys her friends fawn over, while Kate just uses them for business purposes without any interest in anything else they have to offer.

Far too early, Chris leaves, and then Kate is alone again. Over the course of this next school year, she’d very much love to tell herself that her weird infatuation with her own big brother dissipates, but it’s quite the opposite.

Now that she’s in high school, the prices for things she wants are going up, and with that comes a lot of frustration. The boys who were content just peeking down her shirt are starting to discover that porn exists, and so they need more incentive to do her homework and her projects for free; they start wanting to touch and be touched beyond just a good kiss. And Kate, well.

Some of her classmates call her a slut, now and then. Really, she sees herself more as an entrepreneur.

She’ll go out with these boys, flirt shamelessly, bat her eyelashes. She’ll reach down their pants when they’re making out and rub them through their boxers until they’re a sticky mess – all the while pretending it’s turning her on as well. It’s not. They’re quick and disrespectful and clumsy. Some of them want to touch her, too, but that remains off-limits; she even allows them (after a _lot_ of bargaining) to take her panties off under her skirt and get a good look at what’s beneath, but the moment they reach out an eager hand, she’ll slap it away.

The thrill of showing off is what gets her. Knowing how hard they are for her, how badly they want to have a taste, and completely denying them – it makes her feel absolutely _powerful._ And while the idea of these same boys getting what they want from her body makes her a little sick, there’s someone else who always pops into her head, usually when she’s alone in her bedroom after coming home from a date.

Someone who has long, thick fingers, bright blue eyes, and stubble on his jaw. Who she trusts with every inch of her body – he bathed and changed her when she was little, after all – but who has yet to see this new, updated version that makes boys weak in the knees.

He’d take such good care of her, just like he always has.

There’d be nothing uncertain about him once he got a hold of her thighs and spread them open to lick at her until she cried out. Nothing clumsy in the way he would slip those thick fingers into her, easily finding every spot that makes her squirm. Not a smidge of disrespect in how he’d use those same hands, wet from her slick, to push her to her knees and get her mouth around his hard, _adult_ cock.

She comes from those fantasies more often than she’d like to admit, with Chris’s name on her lips and not even a little bit of shame in her chest.

This year, he comes home for her birthday, with a smile on his face and new swimming gear in a shiny package. They sit on the porch together for hours, the cold wind insignificant against the fuzzy blanket and their mugs of hot chocolate, and talk about everything under the sun, including Kate’s new record time, the current state of American politics, and how inexplicably hilarious it is that the neighbors named their new dog Kevin.

They also talk about boys, because apparently Chris is under the impression that Kate has absolutely no idea what boys her age could possibly want besides holding her hand. She has to hold back laughter several times – his intentions are good, sure, but it’s funny to hear ‘don’t let anyone pressure you into doing stuff you’re not comfortable with’ when she’s been giving out handjobs for months and the only guy she wants to be touched by is sitting right next to her.

He leaves, of course. After a weekend that has Kate hoping Monday would never come, Chris gives her a kiss on the forehead and hops onto his car, and she doesn’t even want to hide the disappointment in her voice when she tells him to have a safe trip.

That summer, though, he’s staying for only one week, and she has a plan.

Maybe she won’t get him to break. He’s good, he wouldn’t want to corrupt his baby sister. But although she’s never been able to understand Chris’s brain, she knows a thing or two about how beautifully dumb boys can be when they’re turned on, and _that’s_ a thought worth looking into.

It has to be subtle – Chris is smarter than the boys she usually deals with and would be immediately put off if she just went all out. No, she has to get to his head little by little, creep into the corners of his mind just enough to plant the idea and then leave him to deal with it.

It has to be just subtle enough that the _stupid, adult, older-than-him, annoying, self-righteous girlfriend he brought home with him_ won’t notice.

That’s right, Chris found himself a girlfriend. And she’s pretty. Completely different from Kate, too – her jawline is sharp and her hair is dyed a rich shade of red and her entire demeanor screams ‘don’t fuck with me’. (She won’t, of course. She’s pissed that this woman showed up in the first place, but she knows, in her brain, it isn’t Victoria’s fault she’s foiling Kate’s plans to seduce her brother. Doesn’t mean she’ll be _nice_ , but she can maintain a level of respect, at least on the surface. My, how she’s grown.)

They sit by the pool together and it’s immediately clear that Victoria doesn’t like her, either. Chris must have told her how awful she was to him when she was younger, how glad he was to be rid of her for most of the year. She’s _possessive_ , is what she is – even _answering on Chris’s behalf_ when she thinks Kate is being anything other than perfectly polite to him.

Fuck her, she doesn’t have siblings. She doesn’t know there’s a _difference_ between being mean and just being a bit of a dick to someone you know won’t take it the wrong way. Why is she meddling, anyway? Does she think Chris is in some kind of danger? Does she want to fucking _protect_ him from his own younger sister?

Fuck her. For whatever reason, Chris loves Kate and has never stopped, not even when she was at her worst, not when she hated herself every bit as much as he probably should have. He won’t stop now that Victoria is there.

Fuck her. Kate is the one who’s been in his life for fifteen years. She won’t suddenly stop being important to him because he has someone to make out with.

It sure feels like it, though.

_Fuck her_.

Kate is strong. She won’t sit around moping about it. She still has a plan and fully intends on putting it in action; all she needs is to tweak it a little bit. Before she knew Victoria would be coming, her goal had only been to populate Chris’s head a bit more than she used to, to make him want her at least a little bit. Now it’s threefold – to seduce Chris, to annoy Victoria, and to make it clear to them both that _she_ ’s the top dog around here. She’s known him since they were little, she loves him way more, and when Victoria inevitably leaves, she’ll be here.

The result hinges on a fine balance.

She sits with her feet in the pool, in a neon pink bikini that she’s very aware frames her tits perfectly, and reminisces with Chris about old stories Victoria wasn’t around for. Leaves them alone when they’re talking about college and comes back from inside the house with her book and a popsicle; while they giggle stupidly together, she reads and makes a quiet show of licking and sucking at the popsicle with enthusiasm. It _looks_ like she’s just being accidentally sexual about it, but every time she swipes her tongue along the side of it to catch a drip or wraps her lips around the tip and sucks the juice out of the ice, it’s entirely planned. She doesn’t dare look up to check if he’s looking.

At night, she wears her little blue shorts and _his_ gray t-shirt, hanging loose around her hips. Victoria, ironically enough, is _also_ wearing one of Chris’s shirts, either coincidentally or as a display of dominance. Yeah, right. Two can play at this game, and Kate’s tits are higher and tighter than hers; she foregoes the bra on purpose, and ignores the glare from Victoria when she rests her feet on her brother’s thigh as they watch TV. (Does he get hard like Bobby Garrett did when she put her bare feet on his lap? She doesn’t know. Sliding them closer to Chris’s dick to check would be far too obvious, as much as the thought makes her wet.)

By day two, she gets bolder – kisses his cheek good morning and ‘accidentally’ brushes her lips to his ear, acting like nothing happened. Asks him to spread sunscreen on her back while she lays on her stomach, the strings of her top undone so she gets an even tan, and even the slightest accidental brush of his fingertips against the side of one breast makes her _shiver_. She’s gone on him, it’s ridiculous. He, on the other hand, either remains oblivious or is pretending like nothing is out of the ordinary.

Day three, Victoria’s glares have turned into something a bit softer, almost concerned. Kate responds to this the only way she knows – ignoring her, being generally unpleasant when they do interact, and latching onto Chris’s attention, which _also_ seems to be lacking a bit. He gravitates around his girlfriend’s mood, it seems. That day, Kate flips them both off and goes out with her friends; she comes home late and drunk and giggly and _doesn’t_ get sick, thank you very much. She does, however, come home to a surprisingly empty living room, Dad snoring in his bedroom, and Chris’s bedroom door locked.

If she were sober, she wouldn’t press her ear up against it and listen intently, but that’s what she does. Of _course_ they’re fucking. And of course Chris sounds fucking _delicious._ Victoria does too – she wonders what he’s doing to her, if his big hands are grabbing onto her hips, if he’s fucking her down into the mattress. Without a second thought, she lifts up her dress, shoves a hand into her panties, and leans against the door, bringing herself off at the same time as Chris seems to reach his peak.

(She runs back to her room when his gorgeous, rough, _breathless_ voice mutters out an ‘I love you’. Just like that, the afterglow is ruined.)

Day four, she avoids them like the plague. Chris doesn’t just enjoy this girl’s company, he _loves_ her. Kate is quite aware that her infatuation with her brother is nothing normal, and that he _should_ have a good, healthy relationship, but it still hurts. She’s cruel when she’s wounded. She doesn’t want to be cruel – not to him, not again, not anymore – so she stays away instead. It’s a beautiful, sunny day, which she spends mostly in her bedroom, with the AC turned all the way up. Chris doesn’t seem to notice.

Of course, Kate is never sad for long. She’s not going to let Victoria win. Day five begins at the beach, with saltwater dripping from her hair all the way down her body before it evaporates; she can swear Chris’s eyes follow the path of one drop as it disappears between her legs, and suddenly she feels even hotter. The day ends when he and Victoria are sitting together at the living room table, laughing at something on Chris’s laptop, and Kate comes up to stand behind him and wrap her arms loosely around his shoulders. He’s comfortable enough with her that he welcomes it without a second thought, leans his head back slightly so it’s pillowed against her tits; Victoria notices, glares, and in response Kate just presses a kiss to her brother’s forehead. She’s not doing anything wrong. Well, she is, but for all that Chris knows, she’s just being a very affectionate little sister.

On day six, Chris and Victoria go to the beach again, without Kate. When they come back – flushed, sweaty, _happy_ – the sun is starting to set and Kate is in possession of brand-new sneakers, for the low, low price of tugging at Andy Feldman’s dick. She didn’t even want the sneakers that badly, but when her hand was wrapped around Feldman’s cock, she felt powerful again. When he whined as he came, too early and all over her hand, she felt wanted. When Chris says hello with a bright smile and his hand is still linked with Victoria’s, it doesn’t hurt as much as it probably would have if she’d spent all day at home.

Day seven is the day they leave. Chris says goodbye with a tight hug that feels very bittersweet. Victoria just waves, and Kate is fine with that – it’s not like she’d want more contact, anyway. Minutes after they go, she’s off with her friends, pretending like her back doesn’t still tingle where his big, warm hands last touched her.

Months go by and it’s back to the same routine for Kate: school, swimming, parties, and Dad. A nominal presence, really, but he’s still there most evenings when she gets home, which is more than she can say for her brother. School is interesting enough, made easier by the fact that she doesn’t have to do any of her own projects; swimming is exciting and challenging and she keeps her hair safe from chlorine damage with expensive creams and treatments, and at parties she lets the free alcohol wash away any and all bad thoughts.

The common thread of it all? Dick. Wesley Brown makes ugly noises when he comes in her hands, right after handing her an impressively well-written essay on the French Revolution. Mark Rosel drives her to the mall and buys her the products to keep her blond hair impeccable, in exchange for what’s probably the quickest blowjob in history. Even Rique Mamani, whose dancing doesn’t give her much hope that he’d be interested in her type of currency, pays for her share of a Saturday night party so she’ll make out with him in front of his friends. She gives her body and gets favors in return, and her life is good. It _is_. She’s doing fine, she’s being smart, and it’s nothing but a business tactic.

Which makes it all the more surprising when, in the middle of a Tuesday that she spends at home with truly horrid cramps, she receives an email from a very concerned Chris.

Apparently, he’s been learning a thing or two in the field of child psychology (which is irrelevant, because Kate is sixteen years old and not a child) and so has Victoria (which is also irrelevant, because she’s a cunt).

**_Has something been happening, Katie? You know you can tell me if it has. I won’t tell Dad. I just want to make sure you’re safe._ **

She’s been doing a fantastic job of that herself, thank you very much.

**_The word is ‘hypersexual’. It fits a lot of your behavior this summer. It’s not just me saying that; Vic is the one that brought it to my attention._ **

No shit. Add ‘jealous’ to the list of adjectives that come before ‘cunt’ to describe her.

**_Again, it’s none of my business what you’re doing with people your own age, as long as you’re not getting hurt. I don’t just mean physically. If I find out some fucker out there is using you…_ **

She has to laugh. She’s the one using _them_. She sucks a dick or two here and there for favors, but no one has so much as been allowed to touch her chest, and she plans to keep it that way. If there’s something Dad taught them well, it’s to never mix business with pleasure.

**_You can tell me anything. Always remember that._ **

No, she can’t.

**_I love you._ **

And that’s the whole fucking problem, isn’t it?

She considers just not responding, but he’s reaching out, always thinking about her wellbeing, and she can’t. Especially not when the same Andy Feldman who bought her sneakers in exchange for a handjob has been continuously calling her a slut ever since; one more in the long list of people who’ve gotten what they wanted from her, given her what she wanted in return, and stopped even pretending to like her once the transaction was complete.

Chris would never. Chris is a constant, sturdy, solid presence in her life. She’d like for him to be a sturdy and solid presence between her legs as well.

**_Chris,_ **

**_I appreciate you worrying, but I’m okay. Really. No one’s been doing anything to me that I don’t want them to. If I need a college guy to come kick a high schooler’s ass, I’ll let you know._ **

**_Love you more._ **

**_PS: Tell your girlfriend to stop putting these thoughts in your head._ **

The response comes the next day, after school, and it makes her heart do a backflip.

**_Not my girlfriend anymore, but we’re still friends._ **

**_She dumped me, before you ask._ **

**_Don’t be mean._ **

Like she could ever.

Fine, she could. It’s one of her specialties. But she won’t, not to him. Not anymore. She ‘s learned. If she’s a bitch to him, he doesn’t come home for the holidays or for her birthday, and then she’s sad. She doesn’t particularly want to be sad.

**_She’s a fucking idiot if she thinks she can do better than you. You deserve better than her, though._ **

He deserves _Kate_.

He deserves a lot better than Kate, actually, but she wants him to have _her_ and not someone better. She wants him to have her and never want anybody else.

At night, she thinks about the time she caught him and Victoria fucking and lets her mind fill with the sounds she heard, the way his voice gets deeper and silkier the closer he is to coming. Imagines that voice pressed right up against her ear, whispering filthy words while he fucks her good and hard. He’d feel better, thicker, than her fingers. She brings them up to her mouth and thinks about his tongue lapping up her taste from her skin, then directly from the source, his stubble scratching at her little teenage cunt.

This year, he comes home for her birthday with a pair of beautiful earrings shaped like butterflies. After Dad goes to sleep, they sit together in the living room and have two shots each, because ‘it’s okay to drink a bit as long as you do it safely, and I’m right here in case something goes wrong’. (He’s right here, always.) She’s a lot more sober than she lets on when she lays her head on his lap, lets him play with her hair while she draws patterns on his inner thigh with her fingertips. Strategically, she pretends like she doesn’t notice he’s getting hard against her neck.

(In her mind, she’s doing a small celebratory dance. _Ding dong, the witch is dead_ stays stuck in her head for the rest of the night.)

She ups the ante the next day by asking him to come sit in her bedroom and chat while she chooses an outfit, faking indecision while wrapped in a towel, barely covering anything. When she bends down to pick up a pair of shoes, she lingers, giving him – _offering –_ a good view of her bare pussy, flushed with excitement at just the thought of him looking. In the end she wears a white dress that comes down to the middle of her thighs, too tight to wear panties underneath, and all through the night she catches him stealing furtive glances and turning a lovely shade of pink.

He knows she’s bare under her dress. Does he also know how wet she is? How every time he looks at her legs, she wishes he would pull her into a corner, lift up her dress and have his way with her however he wanted?

He _has to_. She hasn’t been subtle.

In the morning, however, he breaks her heart.

“Katie.” He’s very serious, almost a bit ominous, for someone who’s just pouring cereal into two bowls and topping it with milk. “I think we need to talk.”

Kate pulls her bowl to herself and nods, suddenly glad there’s a kitchen counter between them.

“Remember that email I sent you? About… Your behavior?”

Oh God. “Yeah, what about it?”

“You’re doing it again. You’re doing it _more_.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think you should go see a therapist.”

Oh, _God._ Kate resists a very strong urge to plant her face straight into her cereal, he’s so _fucking oblivious_. He seems to interpret her reaction as shame, because his hand – big, warm, safe – is suddenly covering hers where it lays on the counter, and his voice is softer, unbearably gentle.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. I don’t know if you even realize you’re doing it, it’s just… You’re horny all the time and it shows.” He chuckles. “Some people might take advantage of that.”

_Some people like you?_ She wants to ask, but instead she looks him straight in the eye.

“And we wouldn’t want that.”

“No, we wouldn’t. I’d be obligated to end them.”

“Which I couldn’t possibly do myself, could I?” She can’t help the bite in her words, the defiant, bitter edge to them. Here she is again, being a bitch, and here _he_ is, not letting go of her hand.

“Katie, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what _did_ you mean?” _Stop being so gentle. Yell at me, for fuck’s sake._ He doesn’t, and Kate can feel the very familiar, very irritating prickle of tears in her eyes.

“I mean, if you’re acting like _this_ when it’s just you and me, out there you’re probably… _Worse._ And I don’t think you even notice it. How people look at you.”

“How?”

“Like they’re starving and you’re a four-course meal.”

As if _that_ hasn’t been an integral part of her life for the past almost three years. When she chuckles, it comes out cold, almost cruel, and the words are out before she can help it.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I _know_ exactly what I’m doing?”

Silence. Short, but pointed, painful.

“You’re doing it at home, though.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“When you’re alone with me.”

“Like I said, I’m not stupid.” Might as well dig her own grave all the way.

“Then what? You’re trying to seduce your own brother?”

“Yes.”

The silence that hangs between them this time is unbearable. It feels like it stretches for a year. His hand is still on hers, grounding her, thumb rubbing rhythmically across her knuckles as if he’s trying to ground himself as well, but otherwise she has trouble figuring out what to do with herself. Even more so when Chris is the one who breaks the unending silence with little more than a whisper.

“ _Katie.”_

She wants to pull her hand away and run off to her bedroom. Simultaneously, she wants to throw her arms around his neck and not let go for a very, very long time. In the end, she doesn’t do either of those things, but Chris does; he walks to her side of the counter and wraps her in a tight embrace that makes something inside her chest unravel. For a moment, she’s four again, clinging to her big brother because there’s a monster in the closet and something just as scary inside her own head.

“You’re my baby sister.” His voice is so _soft_. “It’s not right.”

“Not a baby. I’m sixteen.”

“Still my sister.”

The sigh that leaves her is so heavy, it makes her shudder. Chris’s response comes in the form of a kiss to her forehead, but otherwise he stays silent.

And that’s really when it hits her.

“You’re not saying you don’t want me, though.”

More silence.

“Chris, it’s okay.” She presses her face into his neck, each word coming out in a warm puff of air against his skin. “I know what I’m doing. Really. You’re not – you’re not being a bad brother or taking advantage or anything. We could –“

“You’re a kid. Fuck, you’re practically _my_ kid, I _raised_ you.”

“And yet you want me.”

“Kate.”

“In fact, maybe you’ve wanted me for a while.”

“Okay, wait. I need you to know I’ve never…”

She can’t help it; she laughs.

“Oh, my God. I _know_ you weren’t thinking nefarious thoughts when I sat on your lap to watch fucking Zoboomafoo, you big nerd.”

“Well, good.” Thankfully, he relaxes a little. “Just had to make sure. I’m not a horrible person.”

“If you were, I wouldn’t be trying to fuck you, now would I?”

They laugh again. Together. It lightens the mood perfectly and she almost lets herself believe this could happen, that it’s going somewhere. And then he kisses her forehead again and pulls away from the embrace, and it feels very definitive.

“I can’t.”

“But _why?_ ”

“I just can’t. I’d feel awful.”

“Chris-“

He cups her face. _Cups her face_. With that strong hand she’s had so many fantasies about. It’s not fair.

“Give me some time to get used to the idea. Please.”

It’s not a no, so she nods.

It sure _feels_ like a no when they’re watching TV later, just the two of them, and Chris does nothing more than wrap his arm around her shoulders and let her rest her head against his chest. Like he always does. She likes it, of course – who wouldn’t? He’s so warm and his embrace is so cozy – but it’s not what she _wants_.

It’s what she gets, though, and she should be thankful. The show he picked is incredibly boring, but she doesn’t mind; while Chris seems utterly captivated by the plot, she allows herself to retreat back into her own mind and relax fully into his embrace.

_Give me some time to get used to the idea._

Maybe next time he’s around, he’ll touch her.

Maybe he’ll kiss her on the lips.

Or maybe he’ll invite her into his bedroom and lay her down, kiss every little bit of her, and she’ll let him, because she wants to, wants _him_ , trusts him.

Or maybe –

His hand is moving.

His hand, which was previously resting on her arm, drawing idle patterns on it over the short sleeve of her t-shirt – the big one she stole from him last summer and never gave back – is now moving closer to her chest, feeling the bump of her collarbone. Her heart starts hammering, but she stays perfectly still, breathing shallow, waiting at the metaphorical edge of her seat for his next move.

He’s not looking at her – gaze still planted on the TV, slightly glossy – and she doesn’t dare make a sound. Not when his fingertips are moving down under the fabric, lower, _lower_ , until they just barely ghost over a nipple that hardens almost instantly. It’s the slightest touch, but her skin feels like it’s on fire, mouth falling open as he keeps on touching her just like that. Careful. Light. _Teasing_ her tits with the barest amount of pressure, circling over one nipple, then the other _._ As quiet as she tries to be, a little gasp escapes her when he finally, _finally_ catches her nipple between his finger and thumb.

“Pretty.” His voice has dropped to something deeper, richer, making her tingle all over. “Here – lie down.”

She does, of course she does. She’d do anything he asked right now. The couch is big enough that Chris only has to move a little to the side so she can lie on her back, and then they’re lying side by side, Kate’s slightly shaky hands bunching up the hem of her shirt and lifting it to expose her tits.

He licks his lips – _licks his lips_ – before touching them again, and again, focused solely on Kate’s reaction, and it’s so fucking gorgeous, she’s slightly disappointed when he stops looking at her face and lowers his head.

For a second.

And _then_ his mouth is on her, and she can’t feel anything other than _yesyesgoodmore._ Just as she’d suspected, daydreamed about, he knows exactly what he’s doing; his lips wrap unerringly around one of her nipples, his hand still playing with the other, and he’s – he’s _sucking_ and his tongue is flicking at the very tip, obscenely, forcing an absolutely delighted moan out of her throat.

“Chris.” She breathes out. He switches to the other tit, his fingers replacing his mouth where she’s now wet from his tongue, and her brain stops working for a second. “Chris, _more_.”

“No.”

“Please – “

“Katie. Baby. Not yet.” The pet name makes her shudder almost as much as his tongue does. “This is what I can give you right now, understand?”

She understands. Or she doesn’t, because she wants _all_ of him, but she can wait. She can be patient. She doesn’t _need_ to come.

“But you can touch yourself.”

Oh, _fuck,_ this is what he meant.

Kate doesn’t need to be told twice. One hand pushes her pants just to the middle of her thighs, and the other slips into her panties in one slightly clumsy motion. (It was so easy to show him her bare cunt when she was trying to seduce him, but now she’s shy. Chris doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, when she looks up at him, the look in his eyes is _hungry_.)

She’s already embarrassingly wet. Her fingers dip inside her pussy, just enough to get them nice and slick, and then she starts to drag them over her clit in the same circular motion she likes to use when she can take her time with herself. Only she’s not alone in her bedroom, biting at a corner of the blanket to stay quiet; she’s in the living room, exposed, rubbing circles over her swollen clit while her _big brother_ licks and sucks and nibbles at her tits. God, it’s good. His stubble scratches at her breasts in a way that almost hurts, but not quite, and she wonders if she’ll be red later. If she’ll be able to go into the shower and see the marks he left on her skin, to know for sure she’s not having an incredibly vivid wet dream.

It builds and builds and _builds_ and she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Everything feels _hot_ and _too much_ and _perfect_ and she’s close to coming already, she knows. Her body begins to jerk when she rubs over her clit, tiny little thrusts of her hips that seem to make Chris want to suck harder at her nipple, and then –

His free hand is pressing up against her. Over her panties, over her hand, effectively trapping it in between his own hand and her pussy. It’s hotter than it ever should be. With a smirk – he _knows_ how much power he has, the bastard – he catches a nipple between his teeth, making her hips jerk again, and the combined pressure of their hands against her clit is what makes her officially lose it.

Technically, he didn’t touch her cunt at all. Also technically, she has never made herself come this hard before. She’s also never let anyone see what she looks like when she comes, those brief but delicious seconds when she’s giving up control, and Chris hasn’t been able to take his eyes off her – it makes her feel weirdly vulnerable, but he’s right there, grounding her, pressing kisses to her cheeks and her temples and _not_ her lips.

It’s funny how he’s fine with sucking on her tits but kissing her on the mouth is off-limits. Even funnier how she’s absolutely not offended by that.

“You didn’t come.” She mutters once she’s able to form sentences again. “Can I-“

“No.”

Kate sighs. “You don’t want me to get you off?”

Instead of responding, Chris opens up his jeans and slips his own hand into his boxers. Why isn’t he letting her touch him? She knows how to do it. Hell, she’s a pro by now. But Chris doesn’t seem to care, and she’s not about to sit here and pout about it when she could at least _participate_ in getting him off, so she leans in and presses a kiss to his neck.

“I heard you, you know.” She whispers, right next to his ear, licking at the sensitive skin underneath it. They’re pressed tight together, so she can feel it when he shivers. “When you were fucking her. In your bedroom. I heard you.”

“Fuck. Keep talking.” He sounds just like he did then – low, deep, gorgeous. If she were just a bit braver, Kate would touch him, get her hands under his shirt, his jeans, but she isn’t. _This is all I can give you right now_ means he’s the one controlling their pace. All she can do is keep working his neck and talking dirty in his ear.

She can do that. It’s her area of expertise.

“Heard how you sound when you come.” She murmurs in between kisses up and down the pale column of her brother’s neck. “Made myself come too.”

“At the same time?”

Chris’s hand is working his cock faster, and even though she just came, Kate feels herself get hotter again. She’ll get addicted to this, she can tell; every little tremble of her brother’s body against her own sends a little jolt straight between her legs.

“Yeah. At the same time. I heard you fucking her and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Katie…”

“Thought about you doing it to me.” She bites at a spot below his ear and he lets out a delicious little moan. “You wanna do that, Chris? Wanna fuck your little sister?”

That does it. She knows the moment he comes; his hips stutter and his breath goes shaky and she’s cataloguing every little thing his body does, every catch in his breath and spasm in his belly. It’s nothing like the boys she plays around with – Chris is a _man_ and he comes like a man, too, whatever the hell that means. (It makes sense in her head.)

The next day, before he leaves, he presses her up against the wall like he’s about to devour her, but what he _actually_ does is press a chaste little kiss to the corner of her lips. When she tries to turn her face so she’ll kiss her for real, he pulls back, and she _whines._

“I’m coming back for Christmas.” He smiles, unbearably smug. “If you still want me then, I’ll kiss you.”

She hates him.

Well, no, she doesn’t. Couldn’t. But she _wants_ to hate him, especially now that she has something good to compare it to when those silly, clumsy, selfish high school boys seek her out. When they’re demanding in an utterly disrespectful way, and they’re not even doing it on purpose – they can’t _help_ but chase their own pleasure and nothing else. She can’t blame them; she doesn’t let them touch her and they wouldn’t know what to do if she did. But now she knows how good it can be when someone actually cares about her, to feel safe and protected and cherished at the same time as she’s hopelessly turned on, and there isn’t a single chance she’ll feel that way with any of the boys she takes easily into her hands and mouth. They’re not Chris. They like her for her body, for her skills, but they don’t like _her._ How could they? She’s not very likeable, once you get past the things she _has_ and the things she _can do._ The things she _is_ aren’t anything to write home about. The only one who disagrees is her big brother.

But her big brother is nowhere around, and she still needs things. Things like books and school projects and hair products and concert tickets. Could Dad pay for those? Sure. Does she want to give him any kind of information about what she does with her free time? Absolutely not. Besides, using boys for her own purposes is kind of fun, and she likes it, so why would she stop?

She doesn’t. The school year goes on, and Kate does her own thing. But it’s different now, and she doesn’t know if it’s a coincidence that it started to become different right after she got a taste of what she wanted from Chris, or if these things have been happening all along and she just hadn’t thought anything of it. Her money is on the latter.

Things like how Tristan Swinney shoved his unwelcome hand down her pants when they were making out, and although she promptly punched him and walked away, it still made her feel icky for the rest of the day. Or how Matty Lee tried, unsuccessfully but still annoyingly, to spread the rumor that she has syphilis. Or even the way Mason Oxford insists on calling her _Katie_ when she’s blowing him. But the worst by far is when she finds out much too late that she’ll be failing Chemistry – just a few days before Christmas break – and it leads her to do the unthinkable.

It’s not that Mr Harris is any worse than Kate’s classmates. Really, if anything, he’s a bit more gentle when she’s going down on him, careful not to choke her and not to pull her hair too hard. And it’s not like she isn’t fully consenting – she sucks his dick for a grade, and she does it well and willingly. But he’s still the one who has the power, not Kate, and maybe _that’s_ why she feels sick and gross by the time she’s done.

So sick and gross, in fact, that she walks home entirely distracted. Doesn’t even notice the extra car in the driveway, or how the door isn’t locked on both locks, like she usually leaves it when she goes to school.

She only notices it when there’s a pair of perfectly warm arms winding around her from behind as she’s locking up.

“Chris.” She breathes out his name like a prayer, and he doesn’t question it. Bless him. Her eyes fall closed without her even wanting them to, just soaking in his presence for a long moment, tipping her head back to rest against his chest. (He’s _tall_. Kate is a bit on the taller side herself, and he’s still got several inches on her. She loves that.)

“Everything okay?”

She nods, because _now_ it is. Mostly.

“Turn around, then.”

When she does, Chris’s face is beautiful, a gentle smile curving at his lips. She doesn’t even want to hold back – her arms wrap around his neck, firmly, and she leans in.

“So you still want me.” He murmurs.

“Yeah, no shit.”

They kiss and her head swims with the intensity of it. There’s rough stubble scraping her chin and cheeks, making her skin red, but his lips themselves are wonderfully soft, prying her mouth open with that same gentleness she’s so hooked on. It’s not like Chris isn’t passionate – she could never make that kind of claim when his hands are on her hips, pulling her impossibly closer, grabbing at her body like he knows it’s all his – but he’s _considerate_. There’s a difference.

Chris is smiling again when he pulls away.

“You missed me.” He affirms with just the tiniest edge of a question, so she’s quick to nod.

“Terribly.”

“Just ‘cause you wanted to kiss me?”

He leans in again, for a much harsher, hungrier kiss, as if to prove his point. When they part, she’s breathless.

“I missed you ‘cause I love you, you big idiot. You leave for months at a time.”

“Mm, I know. Just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Asshole.”

There’s no weight to her insult, and he knows it. It’s why they both laugh. It’s also why his hands haven’t left her hips this entire time.

Kate is still feeling icky from earlier with Harris, but what she’s _not_ going to do is let it ruin what limited time she has with her brother. She can be moody about it later; right now there’s a whole list of things she wants to do, and it begins with slipping her hands under his shirt again, stroking broad palms over his abs.

“Dad left, right?”

“No, he’s standing right there.” Chris rolls his eyes. “You think I was gonna grab you like that if there was a chance he could see?”

“Who knows, he might get a kick out of it. We’re already a pretty fucked up family to begin with.” She gestures back and forth between the two of them, and Chris’s face scrunches up in a scowl.

“Please don’t _ever_ imply anything like that again. Ever.”

She laughs. They kiss again, and again, and she lets herself touch as much as he’ll allow. His chest. His abs. His back. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. They only break the kiss to get rid of his shirt, then hers, and then his mouth is on hers again, sucking her bottom lip.

“Have you thought about it, Chris?” She whispers in between kisses, one hand on his shoulder while the other reaches back to undo her bra. In seconds her chest is bare, nipples hardening quickly as she presses herself to his chest. “About how you were the first guy who made me come like that?”

Chris nods eagerly, and now his lips are on her neck.

“Did you get off to it?”

“Of course I did.” His tone has dropped once again to something rough and incredibly seductive; she melts.

“Tell me what you thought about.”

“You really want to know, Katie?”

“Yes. Please.”

The next thing she knows is she’s being pushed against the kitchen wall, stuck between the cold tile and his hot, hot, _hot_ body, and the way his hands move doesn’t match the deliciously eager look in his eyes. He’s just… Caressing her. Brushing his knuckles lightly against her sides. Barely reaching her breasts.

Then he suddenly pinches one of her nipples, and she _squeals._

“This. I thought about this.” He mutters, an unbearably self-assured smirk on his face. “About these perky little tits. How sensitive they are.” His thumb draws a circle right over the very tip of it; she shudders. “That pretty mouth of yours, too.”

“You want my mouth tonight?” She’s not even trying to disguise the hopefulness in her tone, even more so when he takes a step back to allow her a little more space.

“On your knees.”

Kate doesn’t really feel like getting on her knees. It’s not that she doesn’t like it – has nothing against it, really – but it’s a bit too soon after Harris, and she’d rather not let anything about _this_ be similar to _that_. Still, Chris wants it, and she wants to get her mouth on him, so she’ll do it. It’s fine. It’s absolutely not a big deal.

She makes a little show out of dropping to the floor, eyes on his, immensely proud of how dark with lust they become as soon as she just licks her lips. He’s unmistakably hard under his jeans, and she’d take her sweet time with it if she weren’t so impatient already – but she is, so she reaches for the buttons, then the zipper, then takes a few seconds to just brush her lips over the shape of his cock in his boxers. It earns her a tug to the hair.

(She’s not making associations in her head, she’s _not_. God, she’s such a baby. What happened with Harris was in no way traumatic; she just felt used and gross _afterwards_ , but it’s not like he did anything to her. She’s overreacting. She’s overreacting so _much_.)

This is the part she’s good at. Pulling his dick out of his boxers, licking at the tip until he sucks in a sharp breath, toying gently with his balls while she takes as much as she can into her mouth. It’s _good_. Chris isn’t extraordinary size-wise, but he’s nice and thick, heavy on her tongue as she finds a sensitive spot that makes him hiss. She’s enjoying herself. Hell, she’s been fantasizing about this for _months._

And yet she finds herself slipping into a rather unpleasant place in her head. It’s the position, really, combined with his hand pulling at her hair. A better woman would, perhaps, power through it; Kate has proven time and time again that she isn’t a better woman.

She pulls away and stands up. His face falls into a confused frown almost immediately, but she’s quick to kiss it away.

“Let’s go to your room.”

“Why-“

“Or mine, I don’t care. Just don’t wanna be on my knees.”

“Katie, did…?”

“It’s not a big deal, so don’t make it a big deal.” She kisses him again, while knowing for sure he absolutely _will_ make it a big deal. “Your room or mine?”

“Nowhere. You don’t have to do this.”

Kate rolls her eyes pointedly and sighs, half wishing she hadn’t pulled away at all. She can actually _see_ his mind going to the worst case scenario already, and she fucking _hates_ it, partially because it’s getting in the way of her finally sucking her brother off, and partially because maybe this is the kind of reaction that’s appropriate to have if someone _had_ , in fact, done something horrible to her. But no one did. She’s just a big baby.

“Chris, I swear it’s not as dramatic as you’re making it sound.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“Look. I blew a guy a little while ago, and I regret it.” She puts it very bluntly, conveniently leaving out the part where ‘a little while ago’ actually means earlier today, and that the guy was her teacher. “It was a really bad experience, but a _fully consensual_ one. Understand?”

He nods, and the look of surprise on his face is probably more about the fact that she’s out there giving out blowjobs than anything else.

“So you can see why I wouldn’t want _this_ experience to remind me of _that_ one.”

“I can.”

“Then can you _please_ just tell me if you want to go to my room or yours, so I can _finally_ suck your cock like I’ve wanted to for months now?”

Fortunately, that gets him to laugh. And to pull her into another kiss, with absolutely no intention of being gentle, pressing their bare chests together and melting her instantly.

It’s all smooth sailing from there. Chris guides her by the hand and lays her down on her own bed, toys around with her tits some more; then he lies on his back and lets her lick and suck at his cock until he’s painting her face with come. After he’s caught his breath, he finishes undressing her with the same certainty that makes him so irresistible, and his mouth – fuck, his _mouth._ He laps at her clit and fucks her with his tongue and fingers, in a whirlwind of sensation that makes Kate go a little cross-eyed when she finally comes, breathless, moaning out his name.

She was right the last time. She’s addicted after one hit. Her pussy feels delightfully sensitive, raw from his stubble, and when she kisses him, she can taste herself. (If he kissed anyone else tonight, they would taste her, too. Know who he belongs to. The thought makes her grin.)

“Am I better than your high school boys?” He asks when they’re lying side by side, a hint of mockery in his voice – probably because he already knows the answer. “The ones you give regrettable blowjobs to?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“But am I?” He wraps an arm around her, pulling her closer.

“Yes.”

“Knew it. Teenage boys are idiots. Bet they can’t even find your clit if you give them a map.”

She laughs. “They probably can’t. But in all fairness, I also don’t let them.”

From her position, lying comfortably against her brother’s chest, Kate can’t see the expression on his face, but she can guess. Smug, probably. It’s such a good look on him.

“You don’t?” He sounds surprised. “Why?”

“Too intimate.”

It’s not the truth, but it’s an honest enough response. If she were to tell him the _actual_ truth – about how she uses her skills as currency and her body as advertisement – he’d be either concerned or disgusted, probably both. Not a great idea. It’s nicer like this, with a simpler, less messy version of the truth, and Chris’s arm wrapped nice and tight around her like she’s something precious.

Christmas break is spent mostly with Chris. They go out separately a few times, with their respective friends, and they keep Dad company – something Chris insists on and that Kate couldn’t really give less of a fuck about, but she does it anyway. She loves Dad, of course. He _produced_ her. He pays her bills. He’s not mean in any way. But he’s also never around, or interested, and the person who really raised her is the one she’s now constantly trying to find excuses to sneak around with.

And oh, does she ever.

He eats her out on her bed, on his bed, on the living room couch. She sucks him off in the shower and in the backseat of his car. He pulls a blanket over them while they’re watching a movie and fingers her so slowly, she almost cries. Basically, they do everything _except_ fuck, and when she insists – begs for it, really, although she wouldn’t admit that to a single soul – he gives her those same words. _Not yet. This is what I can give you right now._

This time, saying goodbye is a real bummer, but she knows it won’t be for long. She’s got him now. She won’t sit around at home missing him, either; she’s far too smart and far too stubborn. Instead, she gives it a few weeks – mostly because of a swim meet she’s been working particularly hard towards – and then it’s all a matter of good timing and pitching an interesting idea to her group of friends.

It doesn’t take much. As soon as Kate suggests going to a college party, her friends are all for it. She strategically picks one she knows Chris will be at – a costume party, no less – and they make a weekend of it, squeezing into Gabbie Neal’s tiny car and using fake IDs to check into a cheap hotel right off campus. When they’re helping each other get into their costumes and putting on makeup, everyone is equally excited about the prospect of partying with college kids, and the fact that Kate’s brother might be around is barely an afterthought to everyone except Kate herself. To her, it’s the whole reason why she ties her hair into pretty pigtails – not quite as pretty as the ones he used to give her – and chooses a corseted top that brings all the attention to her breasts.

(She’s dressed as a bumblebee, with a fuzzy skirt and bouncy antennae on her head. It’s fucking _adorable._ )

The party is… Strange. Not too unlike the ones she goes to already, but there’s a slightly different atmosphere to it, something she can’t quite put her finger on. Maybe it’s how everyone is just that little bit older. Maybe it’s the yelling and the beer pong, not to mention the grossly overpowering smell of weed. Or maybe it’s just that Kate doesn’t know anyone, and no one seems to be paying her and her friends any attention.

One of those.

It’s not long before they all have a good buzz going. Kate goes a bit beyond tipsy, really. While she and her friends drink together, dance a little, and basically try to get noticed without making it too obvious that it’s what they want, she scans the room with her eyes until they ache with the effort, and still, Chris is nowhere to be found.

Until she spots him. In a corner. Wearing a Green Lantern costume (because he still is, and will always be, a gigantic dork). She’d go over and surprise him, but he already has his arms around someone dressed as Minnie Mouse and one hand grabbing at her ass through the tiny polka-dot dress.

Of course, Kate knows he’s not _celibate._ He’s a handsome guy with a charming personality; she knows it’s only logical that she’s not the only one to notice. But knowing and _seeing_ are two wildly different things, and maybe the alcohol _also_ has something to do with how her chest feels too tight with something close to indignation.

If he’s not wasting time, she shouldn’t, either.

This time, when she lets a fairly good-looking college guy press her up against the wall and kiss her, it’s not about getting him to do something she wants. Not so explicitly, at least. It’s because she’s heartbroken and he might be able to provide a good distraction, and because if Chris doesn’t want her, at least _someone_ does.

(He’s cute enough, this guy. Rob? She thinks that’s his name. When he told her, she was more interested in looking at Chris over his shoulder than actually listening.)

It feels… Nice. Being with Rob. He’s a good kisser, his hands are steady and sure when he pulls her closer, and his hair is very soft between her fingers. It’s funny, and maybe a little bit depressing, how it’s been so long since she last kissed a guy just because it was _fun._ Not trying to get something out of him, not as a power play, but because she’s attracted to him and wants to be kissed, for whatever reason. Even if the reason is that her stupid brother is over there in the corner, making out with a random girl, instead of hiding somewhere with Kate and thoroughly feeling her up like he should be.

Speaking of being felt up, Rob’s hands are definitely on her ass right now. She would pull away, but finds herself not minding it at all; she lets him touch and squeeze and… Try to stifle a laugh against her lips?

“Is my ass funny to you?” She breaks the kiss to ask, already defensive. She has a _great_ ass. One of the reasons she loves swimming is that it’s given her a fantastic body all around, and her butt is no exception. And Rob just shakes his head, the dumbass.

“Sorry, just – didn’t expect the fur.”

Kate can’t help it, she laughs too.

“I’m a bumblebee. Bumblebee butts are fuzzy.” She tries to keep a straight face, but really, it’s hard to say _bumblebee butts_ without at least a giggle. Maybe she’s more drunk than she thought.

“I really hope that’s just the costume.” He chuckles.

And then she does something dumb, to add to the growing list of impulsive decisions she’s made tonight. She wraps herself tighter around him. Puts her lips right next to his ear. And…

“Maybe you’ll just have to find out.”

Wait. No. She didn’t mean that. Did she? Maybe she did. Fuck it, why not? He’s cute. And he seems nice, even considerate enough to keep his hands away from her hair so he won’t wreck the pigtails. Besides, they don’t have to go all the way, right? They can just fool around. Go down on each other, possibly. Yeah, that – for the first time, the thought of a guy other than Chris putting his mouth anywhere near her pussy doesn’t make her want to gag.

Fuck it. If he wants to do this, she’s letting him. Just as an added incentive, she pulls him into another kiss – hotter this time, greedier – and wraps a leg around him so her panties brush up against the fly of his jeans. (When she fists her hands in his shirt, it’s more to keep her balance than anything else; she’s _definitely_ more drunk than she’d planned to get.)

And _then_ Rob is being yanked away from her, and there’s a hand wrapping around her wrist, and fuck, _fuck,_ it’s Chris.

“What the hell, let me go!” She protests, pulling her arm out of his grip. Similarly, Rob has wiggled himself away from her brother and is staring at them with confusion clear in his face.

“Yo, Toph, what’s going on? This your girl or something?” ( _Toph_ is such an ugly way to shorten his name. And probably not what she should be focusing on.)

“That’s my _sister._ ”

Rob’s eyes go wide.

“Your sister.”

“My sixteen-year-old sister who shouldn’t even be here.” Chris confirms. Kate wants to die. Even more so when Rob seems absolutely mortified.

“Dude, I’m so sorry, she looks older with the – with the makeup and stuff.” He turns to Kate. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask!”

She knows it’s a weak excuse, but it’ll have to suffice, because Chris is once again taking a hold of her arm and beginning to drag her away. He’s strong, and she’s drunk and wearing heels, and if she doesn’t go along with him, she’ll probably trip and fall on her face.

All the excitement is gone from Kate by the time they get into an elevator and end up in a long corridor, walking by what feels like a hundred doors until they reach number 413. Throughout all of it, Chris is completely, frighteningly silent. She wishes he would yell. She wishes he would do _something_ other than pull her into his dorm and slam the door behind them.

When he finally does speak, she wishes he’d have just stayed silent.

“You haven’t changed one bit.” He sounds _tired._ And a little drunk, too. Most of all, he sounds about as disappointed as the time she doodled all over his library textbook with permanent marker. “You are still the same irresponsible, selfish little girl you’ve always been, aren’t you?”

Yes, she is, but this has nothing to do with that. Does it? Her money is on no.

“Dude, what is the big deal? I was just making out with some guy. The most scandalous thing he did was touch my ass, _over_ the clothes.”

“He’s twenty-five!”

Great. Now Chris is yelling. He almost never yells at Kate, and when he does, it makes her feel absolutely _minuscule._ She’s not scared of his temper – he hasn’t hurt her a day in her life and wouldn’t change it now – but an angry Chris is a Chris that could make rash decisions. Like leaving. Like telling _her_ to leave, since this is his dorm.

She sighs.

“We were just kissing.”

“You were rubbing up against him like a whore.”

She wants to laugh, but it gets caught in her throat. “So was Minnie Mouse, and you didn’t seem too bothered by it.”

“Rachel is an _adult._ ” He bites back, gesticulating wildly. “You’re a sixteen-year-old _child_ who shouldn’t even be at a college party in the first place, let alone drinking and letting people grope you.”

This time, she can’t hold her tongue.

“So I’m a child when I come to your party and make out with your friend, but an adult when you want to put your dick in my mouth?”

Kate thinks this will shut him up, and for a moment it does. Chris takes a deep breath. Hides his face behind his hands for several seconds, during which she thinks she might have won.

But then.

“You’re a child when you follow me around, and then I have to waste my time babysitting you instead of being a normal person for once in my goddamn life.”

Maybe it’s the moment, or maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe she’s just a baby and needs to get over it, but her world stops.

There _is_ a limit to Chris’s patience, after all. He’s sick of her. Of course he’s finally fucking sick of her.

She doesn’t trust her voice, so she goes to the door in silence, but Chris blocks the way with his body; touching him feels impossible. She takes a step back and makes a shield out of all the sarcasm she can muster up at once.

“Well, I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience to you.” She doesn’t know how Chris reacts, but the floor is rather understanding. “But in order for me to leave, you’re gonna have to step away from the _motherfucking door._ ”

His feet don’t move. He doesn’t speak. Her shield begins to crack.

“What, you want me to keep apologizing? Fine. I’m sorry I wanted to come here and surprise you and see what a college party is like.” She’s piling on the sarcasm, but it just makes her sound weak. “Sorry I got in the way of you scoring with Minnie. And that you’re stuck taking care of me. That you’re _always_ stuck taking care of me.”

The apologies feel dangerously close to genuine, and she wants to stop, but she’s opened a gate and they come flooding out, encouraged by her brother’s silence and her own refusal to look anywhere but the floor.

“I’m sorry I was such a bitch to you as a kid that you couldn’t wait to get away from me.”

She’s crying. She hates it. She won’t stop.

“I’m sorry Mom died and Dad is fucking useless and you had to give up your childhood so I could have one.”

More silence, but his feet are closer. She doesn’t know if that’s good or bad news.

“I’m sorry I’ll never be able to make up for how fucking horrible I was to you and all the pranks and the bruises and the nagging and –“

But she’s wrong, isn’t she? She _can_ make it up to him. Not entirely, of course. But it’s a start. And she’s damn good at it. So she surges forward to kiss him, and he grabs her by the arms to stop her before she’s anywhere close to it.

This time, finally, she looks up. The look in his eyes is _indecipherable_.

“Not when you’re drunk.” He murmurs. She anchors herself in noticing that the softness is still there in his voice, just barely, just enough to remind her that he’s still _him_. “And not when I’m pissed at you.”

Chris looks around the room like he’s trying to collect himself, and Kate wonders for a second if she can make a run for it while he’s distracted. She can’t. Not when he lets out a sigh that seems to come from the very bottom of his soul, and his breath smells like beer, and his face looks like disappointment and regret.

(Does he regret _them_? Are they over? Has she ruined this like she does everything else she touches?)

“Did you come alone?” It’s not the question Kate expected. At least it’s surprising enough to make her stop crying.

“No, I came with my friends. We booked a hotel room.”

“Did they bring their phones?”

She nods.

“Call one of them, let them know you’re staying here tonight. I’m going back to the party and you’d better be here when I get back. Understand?”

She nods again, and he hasn’t even released her arms when her drunk, stupid mouth asks a question her heart doesn’t want to hear the answer to.

“You going back to Minnie?”

“Yes.” Chris takes another step closer. “I might even bring her back here.”

There’s an almost cruel twinkle in his eyes now. She can’t look away, she’s hypnotized – both by his blazing stare and by the hands that move from her arms to her waist, grabbing tight.

“Might fuck her on my bed while you lock yourself in the bathroom and get off to it. I know how much you like to listen.”

Fuck.

Now she’s sad _and_ horny.

“And you’ll still want to kiss me even if my mouth tastes like her cunt.”

It’s not a question. He says it against her ear, in that low, seductive rumble she loves so much, and she can’t do anything but erupt in shivers. (He’s right. She’ll want him. She’ll _always_ fucking want him.)

In a move she absolutely did not see coming, he reaches under her skirt and drags her panties down, just enough to swipe one warm, thick finger along the seam of her pussy. It stops just short of her clit, and she has to bite her lip to keep in a whine.

“Knew it.” There’s a satisfied grin on his lips when he pulls away completely, her slick glistening on the tip of his finger.

And then he’s gone.

Kate doesn’t know what to do with herself for the time her brother is out. She feels… A lot of things at once, most of them bad. Anger (at him? At herself?), guilt, shame, all swirling into a strange panicky feeling that doesn’t _quite_ seem like fear, but it tugs at her chest anyway, anxious and unpleasant. It makes her want to leave, but she doesn’t. It makes her want to go after him, but she doesn’t. It makes her want to do nothing but sit on his bed, still in full bumblebee attire, and cry quietly and stare at the wall – which she actually does, and the little voice of her conscience in her head is far, far away when it reminds her just how big of a child she’s being.

Because she is. She should be out there having fun with her friends. Should at least be telling them where she is, because she’s pretty sure they’ll be worried once they get to the hotel and don’t find her (will they, though?). Instead, she’s being useless and sitting on her brother’s bed, with alcohol still swimming around in her veins and a terribly inconvenient hollowness in her heart that makes her limbs feel heavy and her head full of fog.

There’s no telling how long she stays there, lost in her own head, looking at the wall. It feels like a minute and a decade all at once. What she _can_ tell is when Chris comes back, because immediately there’s a weight next to her on the bed and a pair of arms enveloping her.

“Katie. Hey. Talk to me.” His voice is sweet and soothing again, and she shuts her eyes, drinking in the closeness while she can get it. “Are you okay?”

She should say yes, but it’s never so simple with Chris. So she shakes her head. His response is to pull her even closer, pressing her face into his neck and her whole curled-up body into his chest.

“I shouldn’t have left, fuck. Were you sitting here the whole time?”

She nods. The warmth of his embrace begins to clear away the fog in her head, slowly but surely, and she finds herself melting into his body like she’s made of wax.

“I’m not leaving like that again.” He’s being so _careful_ , rubbing up and down her back, leaving goosebumps where his fingers meet bare skin through the corset straps. Her body doesn’t know whether to react by wanting to curl into him and fall asleep, or wanting to feel that hand everywhere else. “Talk, baby girl. Please.”

It takes a moment, but Kate’s voice finally finds its way back out of her throat. Having him wrapped around her helps immensely.

“Are you still pissed?” Is what comes out – a bit too weak for her liking, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s not judging. He’s got her. It’ll be fine.

“No.” He kisses her face lightly. “Are you still drunk?”

“I don’t _think_ so. Just… Weird and spacey.”

The angle is a little awkward, but she doesn’t mind, because now he’s kissing her. It’s nothing like when they’re going at each other, hungry and impatient – this is more deliberate, more intense, even though their mouths are closed and it’s almost innocent. _Almost_.

(He doesn’t taste like another girl. It’s the best realization she could have come to tonight.)

When they part, he’s smiling that soft little smile that makes her all warm inside.

“Let me take care of you, alright?” He takes her by the hand, and she goes with him, this time by her own choice. It lands them in the bathroom – where Kate takes one look at the mirror and can’t hold back a full-body cringe. She’s a _mess._ Her pigtails are lopsided, one of her antennae fell off at some point while she was making out with what’s-his-name, and more importantly, her face is streaked with the remains of what was once a very pretty makeup look. There are patches of bare skin where the tears melted off her foundation and a river of mascara down her cheeks; her eyelashes are clumped together, red lipstick smeared around her mouth.

She looks like a fucking _clown_ , and Chris doesn’t seem to mind at all. There’s nothing but affection in the way he leads her inside and lifts her up onto the sink, chuckling at the small, undignified sound she makes when her ass settles on the cold stone. As if it’s the most natural situation in the world, he reaches into a drawer for a washcloth, runs it under the tap, and starts wiping the ruined makeup off her face.

It’s more tender than she even knows how to handle. He’s gentle and patient, even when he gets to the stubborn lipstick that clings to the skin around her mouth, and the hand that isn’t busy with the washcloth stays on her hip, over the fuzzy skirt. It’s the most innocent thing in the world, and yet it _isn’t,_ because his body fits right in between her open legs and she can feel all the heat radiating off of him with how close they are. Once he’s done with her face, she’s the one who pulls him into a kiss.

God, it’s good. His body is reassuringly solid, pressing against her until there’s no space left between them, and his hands… Is he pulling her hair? Not exactly. What the hell is he doing?

“Sorry.” He mutters against her lips. “These are fucking me up.”

Oh. The pigtails. She can’t help a breathless little laugh, even as she helps him undo the other side.

“What, do they remind you that it’s your baby sister you’re about to deflower?”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing tonight?”

In response, she scoots forward and wraps her legs around his waist, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him her best, wide eyes.

“Please?”

It works. She’s not sure if it’ll work to get him to _actually_ fuck her, but it gets her a harsh, urgent kiss and a pair of hands untying her corset. He’s hard against her panties and she can’t fucking wait to touch him, all of him, as much as he’ll allow.

Clothes come off easy and quick, after a brief moment of him fumbling with her needlessly complicated top. The whole time, she’s still sitting on the sink, and he’s still slotted in between her legs; when they lock eyes, there’s a devilish look about him that sends a jolt straight to her cunt.

“Tell me what you want.” He murmurs, and his hand rests on her knee, daring her to disobey. She knows this game – it’s his favorite, and it makes her feel deliciously exposed. She talks, he moves. She stops, he stops. She’s always flushed with embarrassment and soaking wet by the end.

“I want you.” She breathes, and he moves his hand up, tracing the inside of her thigh so lightly, it makes her shiver. “Want your cock in me tonight.”

Chris’s other hand cups her breast, thumb teasing around a nipple that hardens instantly under his touch. He hasn’t even touched her pussy yet and she’s already hot everywhere, goddammit. She looks down at where his hand is, but he shakes his head, stilling, because he’s a _jerk_.

“Look at me.”

She does. It feels even more intimate this way, looking in his eyes and telling him all the things she thinks about when she touches herself at night.

“I want… Fuck, I want you to fuck me right here on this sink.” She tilts her hips just a little more, and her pussy just _barely_ brushes up against the tip of his cock, just for a second, drawing a sharp breath out of him. “Been wanting it since last year. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve –“ His hand, _fuck,_ he’s tracing over the lips of her pussy with the most frustratingly light touch “ – pretended my fingers were your cock, but you keep _teasing_ and you won’t _fuck me already_ –“

He pinches her nipple, and presses his thumb to her clit, and she has to take several breaths so she won’t come right then and there.

“Chris, _please_.” She whines, and her legs spread wider, inviting him.

“Keep talking.”

He’s still annoyingly collected. The only indication that he’s as aroused as Kate is comes from his eyes; he looks like he could devour her whole.

“At _least_ give me your fingers.” Thankfully, he obliges, sinking two of those wonderfully thick fingers deep into her cunt. They slide in easily; she’s _soaked_. “You keep – fuck, fuck, _Chris_ – you keep saying you aren’t ready. But I bet you think about it too. Bet you can’t fucking _wait_ to take your little sister’s virginity, I’ll be so tight around your – _fuuuck.”_ He’s found a spot she never quite manages to reach with her own fingers, and is pressing on it relentlessly, making it difficult for her to put a sentence together at all.

“You really want this, little girl?” He can’t ask this kind of thing and call her this kind of name when he’s touching her like this. He just _can’t_. Especially not with that little smirk on the corner of his lips, the one she goes crazy for even when they’re clothed.

“Want it. Need it. Please.”

“Katie, baby, I’m fucking you with two fingers and it’s already a tight fit.” She thinks he’s trying to sound concerned, but it just comes out thick with arousal. “I don’t want it to hurt.”

She needs a second to reply, because he starts rubbing his thumb over her clit in time with the movement of his fingers, and it’s overwhelmingly good. When she does speak, it’s more of a breathy moan than anything else.

“Then give me just the tip.”

That does it. His fingers slide out of her cunt, and there’s a frantic edge to his movements as he opens a drawer, then the other, and finally finds what he’s looking for. With a quick, practiced move, he’s rolling the condom onto his cock, then grabbing onto her hips to pull her a bit further down, and then –

Fuck.

He was right, it’s too much. But it’s also _good._ He’s barely got the tip in, and it’s right on the good side of painful, stretching her cunt and making her whine high in her throat. His thumb returns to her clit, then; she thinks she might short-circuit from all the stimulation at once.

“Katie…” He moans, looking down at where they’re joined like he can’t believe it. God, it’s so hot. “Katie, I’m – fuck, you’re so tight. Look at you.”

She does. It’s obscene. It’s her _brother’s_ cock breaching her pussy for the first time, red and hard, and it’s his skilled fingers rubbing tiny circles over her delightfully oversensitive clit.

It’s also, as it turns out, all it takes to push her over the edge. She comes hard, spasming around his cockhead, her legs shaking from the effort of staying still; it sets off a domino effect, because then Chris, too, is coming with a low growl in his throat and his other hand bruising her hip.

He’s still inside her while they catch their breath. When he slides out, she pulls him into a languid, lazy kiss, her head spinning with the intensity of everything that just happened.

She thinks she should feel at least a little bit weird, having lost her virginity to her older brother on a bathroom sink. But she doesn’t. All she feels is happy and sated, and as he pulls her off the sink and into the shower, more loved than ever before.

She could look into what this means and how messed up her head must be.

Or she could stand under the hot water, lean on Chris, and let him hold her and wash her hair.

The answer is obvious.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I don't know either. This fic was inspired in no small part by my eternal love for JR Bourne's beautiful, beautiful voice and Jill Wagner's chest. But also, I just felt like writing some dysfunctional smut that got way, WAY out of hand. Anyway. Did you notice how I did NOT resort to sexual trauma as a plot device this time? I know it's the bare minimum, but seeing as I've used it a bajillion times in other fics, I still think it's something to be proud of.  
> Anyway. Please leave a comment if you liked it. Or if you didn't. Just leave comments, I'm lonely.


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